Garden of Devotion

I stood by the truck and watched her walk down the narrow paved path. She touched the wind chimes that she hung in the tree. The red bird that sings when the wind blows. I mashed out my cigarette and stole a glance as she straightened the flowers that were left by another family member.

I took a deep breath as I watched her struggle. She sat in the grass, her knees pulled to her chest. She rocked nervously, fidgeting with her hair as the tears she couldn't fight streaked the warm skin of her cheeks. I waited. Silent and sad. Birthdays are supposed to be joyous.

The minutes slowed and I quietly made my way down to the Garden of Devotion. The Garden of graves. The Garden of sadness. The Garden of pain. I sang to her as she tried to hide her tears. Then sat beside her on the cool grass at the foot of the grave. I caught the tears with my hand and she whispered, "Be careful."

With a lighter in hand, we sang happy birthday to the woman who had been gone for five years. But it seems like only yesterday that she made us laugh. I whispered, "I love you," and left her alone again with her mom. She met me by the truck and I held her to let her know that I cared.

"Never knew the power of a song, until I heard the music playing, the day momma passed on..."